


To Fear Death is a Choice

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: Going Down Swinging [96]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asgardian Tony Stark, BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Tony Stark, Blood, Desperation, Dungeon, Escape, Fear, Fights, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt Tony Stark, Imprisonment, Inspired by Black Sails, M/M, Permanent Injury, Pining, Protective Loki (Marvel), Self-Sacrifice, Self-Sacrificing Tony Stark, Thor is a Good Bro (Marvel), Torture, Trauma, Violence, Worried Loki (Marvel), Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Every time their captors ask, Loki must give a name. Every one he gives is sentenced to a vicious, unwinnable fight. Every time, they die, and Loki finds himself clinging to the fact that at least he was sparing Anthony.Until Anthony demands to go next.
Relationships: Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Going Down Swinging [96]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330490
Comments: 43
Kudos: 224





	To Fear Death is a Choice

**Author's Note:**

> As said in the tags, this is directly inspired by a scene in Episode XXXII of Black Sails. That being said, this is not a pirate AU.  
>   
> And thank you to **Rabentochter** for helping me with the summary ❤︎  
>   
>  **Prompt** — _“You can do this.”_

_You have to let them take me._

The words rang through Loki’s mind like a curse, searing at every corner of every thought. He felt like they were burning him inside out, cutting him more surely than the cold iron around his wrists, the iron which was stopping him from being able to use his seiðr and get them _out_ of this mess.

“ _No,”_ Loki snapped, his voice as harsh as he could make it while still remaining unheard. That was not as hard a task as it might have been, for… the sound of a blunt axe thudding into soft flesh accompanied by groans of pain and horror masked his words rather well. “No, are you _mad—”_

“You know as well as I do that no one else stands a chance,” Anthony hissed. “The only other men who could have come close are already _dead._ I’m all we’ve got left.”

“I’d sooner go myself than give them _your_ name—”

“And you might be able to beat him, yes. But you’d be injured, and where would that leave the rest of us? Even when we get out of this dungeon, there’s a whole castle full of soldiers between us and escape. We’re going to need you at full strength, and you know it.”

“Thor’s on his way, he has to be—”

“But we’ve no way of knowing how far he is. They could have killed us all by the time he breaks through. If we’re going to survive, we have to do something _now_ while there’s still enough of us left.”

Anthony’s dark brown eyes were shining in the light of the torches lining the walls, shining with the kind of determination Loki had long since fallen in love with. Not, of course, that Anthony knew that. Perhaps if he did, he never would have asked this of Loki.

They had been captured during a battle, Anthony, Loki, and about two dozen other Asgardian soldiers. Loki truly was sure that Thor would be on his way to rescue them, and had they the time to wait…

But from the moment they had all been chained together and thrown into a cell, their captors had arranged a very particular kind of punishment.

One by one, Loki – as the leader of the group – was required to give a name. That warrior would then be unshackled and dragged to the empty space before all the prisoners… where he would fight one of the largest men that Loki had ever seen.

And perhaps, the Asgardians would still have had a chance despite the man’s large size. They were, after all, the best trained soldiers in the Nine. Except… they had been stripped of all weapons and armour, and the _beast_ they were being forced to fight with their bare hands carried an axe proportionate to his size.

And if Loki did not choose one of his men to send to his death… then he had been assured that they would _all_ be tortured and killed. Whereas if they managed to kill the large man, then they would instead be held for ransom.

The first name Loki called was that of a true fighter, a man who had once almost bested Thor in training. He wasn’t the biggest they had, but he was the quickest, save perhaps for Loki himself, and the Asgardians had cheered as he stood straight-backed before his foe.

But their cheers quickly turned to silence as they watched him fall, carved into pieces with heavy swings of that axe, his only legacy the blood pooling over the floor and the broken glass of the lantern he had slammed into when he had been thrown against the wall.

So Loki had tried to be clever with the names he chose, not wanting to send men to their deaths unnecessarily. He began not with the next strongest, but with those of slightly less skill, to try and tire the beast out– only _then_ , when there were four corpses littering the blood-slicked ground, did he call the name of the man he believed was their best hope—

Only for him to also be sliced to ribbons.

And when their captor turned to Loki with an expectant smile, the only thing to do was to grit his teeth and force out another name.

The longer it went on, the more reluctant the men were to take their place. Loki could not blame them– not even the most hardened warrior could possibly feel confident stepping up after watching so many comrades get torn apart.

Loki knew that he couldn’t watch Anthony get up there. That would tear _him_ apart, he knew it.

“Loki,” Anthony whispered– and the chain jingled slightly as he shifted his fingers to brush over the back of Loki’s hand. “You _must._ You know I have a chance of at least making a _difference_ , and if we wait any longer—”

“I _can’t,”_ Loki said. “Anthony, I– I _cannot_ give them your name.”

“Then say nothing,” Anthony said firmly. “And I’ll give it for you.”

Loki only needed to hear the hard sound of stubbornness in Anthony’s voice to know what that meant, and he immediately shook his head.

“No. Do _not_ anger them.”

“Then you’re going to have to—”

“Prince Loki. We’re waiting.”

Loki’s head snapped up to see the foul smile of their captor.

The warrior on the ground was dead, bringing the number of corpses to six. They were out of time.

Loki felt like he was going to be sick, and not only due to the metallic scent of the blood. The taste of bile was sharp across his tongue, and he swallowed to try and clear the lump from his throat. He didn’t _want_ to do this, he would have given anything to not have to do this, but…

“Stark,” Loki croaked, feeling like he was a little disconnected from his body as he did so, knowing that his words might very well just have condemned his best friend, the man he _loved,_ to death.

But Anthony was right.

This really _was_ their only chance.

Their captor nodded, and then two soldiers stepped forward to grip Anthony’s arms and unlock his chains. They dragged him up roughly, Anthony’s boots skidding along the hard floor– but Anthony looked down at Loki, a reassuring smile curving at his lips.

The smile looked like a lie.

They threw Anthony down to the ground, and Loki winced as he hit. The beast walked forward, all seven feet of muscle and heavy flesh towering over Anthony. Loki’s eyes remained locked on his friend as Anthony struggled to get to his feet– but he was not even given the chance.

The axe swung toward him, blunt end forward so as not to end the fight too quickly– and it connected with Anthony’s gut just as he got upright.

Anthony doubled over, falling back down to his knees– and then the handle of the axe smashed into his nose, knocking him backward. Anthony’s groan of pain cut Loki right to the core, and his face scrunched in pure agony. He winced and jerked his head, but he knew that he could never look away.

Not now.

Anthony was gasping and groaning as he crawled across the floor, trying in vain to get away, his hands and knees slipping in the blood.

“Get up, Anthony,” Loki muttered– then his tone sharpened as he hissed, “You can do this. Get _up.”_

If Anthony stayed on the ground now, there was only one way that this was going to go—

And the axe was swinging down toward Anthony’s head, the beast apparently no longer entertained—

Loki felt a cry bubbling up his throat—

But then, in one single explosive movement Anthony pushed up onto his knees and raised his hands above his head, and he caught the blade of the axe in his palms with a horrible scream.

Streams of blood ran down Anthony’s hands like rivers as he yelled, his arms visibly shaking. Anthony’s face looked like a twisted mask, his eyes burning, his bloodied lips twisted in rage underneath his shattered nose. His bones may have been broken, but Anthony was not the kind of person to give up. And even though Loki felt like the sight was tearing him apart, he still felt a surge of pride for that impossible man.

Because it _should_ have been impossible for Anthony to gain the upper hand, when he had been so brutally knocked down before the fight had even properly started. But the beast’s own theatrics were about to work against him– since his reluctance to kill too quickly meant that the handle of the axe was just as slick with blood as the blade, and Anthony was able to wrench it free.

The moment its full weight was in Anthony’s hands, he cried out in pain– but he managed to find the strength to fling the weapon to the side—

Where it skidded to a halt in a pool of blood, right beside Loki.

Loki stared, for a moment, then his gaze flicked up to their captor– but the man was focused on the fight. Anthony had something in his hand, and Loki’s eyes widened as he saw the tell-late glint of broken glass, which must have been snatched from the shattered lamp on the ground during one of Anthony’s falls. Anthony’s damaged face screwed into a snarl as he slammed the shard into the man’s upper thigh—

Loki had to turn away, just the sound of the beast’s fist finding a home in Anthony’s skull enough to make him feel ill. Thankfully, their captor was still watching with sick delight, Anthony’s daring making the axe forgettable. Slowly, Loki reached for it, trying not to jingle the chain.

“Wait.” The man beside Loki halted him with a touch to his arm. Loki didn’t know him well, beyond that his name was Halvar– he wasn’t a great fighter, else he would have already been dead. But it would seem that he understood what it was that Loki was trying to do, for he reached out with his un-chained foot to slowly bring the axe a little closer, until he was able to take it in his hand without making too much noise.

“You’re only going to get the one hit,” Loki whispered. “That axe is blunt. It did not… go through Anthony’s hands.”

“I understand,” Halvar replied, his voice just as quiet.

Loki drew in a deep breath as he held his hands still behind him, trying not to think about what would happen if Halvar missed his aim by even an _inch._

But it only took a cry from Anthony to steel his nerves.

Anthony was on the ground again, the beast of a man kicking him in the gut and side over and over and _over_ , the sound of Anthony’s rasping breaths and tortured moans too much for Loki to bear.

He had to stop it, he _had_ to, no matter what, because—

Anthony’s cries were growing quieter.

He couldn’t take much more—

“ _Do it,”_ Loki hissed—

Halvar swung the axe down with all his strength, and the blade slammed right between Loki’s hands—

But the chain did not shatter—

And at the sound of clanging metal, every eye turned to look.

Halvar was already lifting the axe for a second swing but Loki knew it was going to be too late—

Except.

_Except._

The cuffs on his wrists drew their power from the runes etched into the metal, and the single hit from the axe had been enough to damage _those._ And while the power that Loki felt creeping inside his veins was but a drop in the ocean compared to his full potential, it was _enough._

Enough to surge though his fingers, enough to crack the metal that was holding him down, that was keeping him from his love—

And when the manacles broke, Loki’s magic _exploded._

There’s no other way to put it– a destructive wave of green blasted out from his body, shattering every manacle in the room. But as the men that were left leapt up with an all mighty roar, the sound that pulled from Loki’s chest was a scream.

It was as if a monster had been unleashed, a creature inside him that had been held back for far too long. Neither he nor his men had anything to fight with other than their hands, their teeth, and the chains that had bound them together.

Well– and Loki’s magic.

The moment the prisoners had begun to move, the guards had all lurched forward, their hands going to their weapons– but the Asgardians had the element of surprise on their side, and in close enough quarters a sword is not as useful as it seems. There were cries of pain and shouts of rage, the clashing of metal against the ground and the gurgle of death as the men tore at their captor’s throats with the only weapons they had.

Bloodied teeth and bloodied hands, chains swinging through the air to divest the guards of their swords, and green magic flashing violently as Loki tried to force his way to Anthony.

Luckily, the Asgardians had numbers on their side, and two of them flanked Loki and helped him get through—

Loki broke into a run as he grew closer, and he _threw_ himself bodily at the man who had still not let up attacking Anthony. The beast was bigger than Loki, both in height and in weight, but in that moment there was nothing that Loki could not have done. He beared his teeth as he shoved his magic _through_ the man’s body, ripping and tearing and destroying everything in its path.

In that moment, the screams of the beast should have been music to Loki’s ears, but all he cared about was _ending his life._ Perhaps he could have done it more slowly, perhaps he could have drawn it out and dealt the pain that was _deserved._ But– in that moment, there was only the one thing that Loki cared about. And it sure as Hel was not this creature writhing on the ground before him.

Loki could feel that he was injured– the beast had not gone down quietly, and Loki could feel the hot blood dripping down his face from the burning wound above his eyebrow, and the ache of something broken in his side. But none of that _mattered—_

And the moment the beast stilled, Loki leapt from his corpse and threw himself down beside Anthony instead.

Anthony’s breath was so laboured that every rise of his chest was a wheeze, his only other movement a twitch of his fingers. He was hardly conscious, his eyes closed, his face so swollen and bloodied that it was nigh on unrecognisable, even to Loki. Anthony looked _broken,_ and the sight of it broke Loki’s heart.

Feeling almost like it was just as difficult for him to breathe as it was for Anthony, Loki slowly shifted a hand under Anthony’s head, and brushed light fingers over his damaged cheek.

“Anthony, you saved us,” Loki whispered, his voice a low rasp as pained as the cries all around him, the cries that were slowly starting to fade away. “You saved us _all.”_

There was no response, and Loki didn’t know what else to say. He knew that it wasn’t his fault Anthony had ended up like this, because Anthony _had_ been right. The proof was right before them all that Anthony’s plan had been the correct course of action.

But that didn’t mean that the sight of Anthony like this wasn’t making Loki feel like the world was coming to an end, anyway.

“My Prince.”

Loki couldn’t pull his gaze from Anthony’s face, from the slight shift of Anthony’s lips as he continued to struggle to breathe. But he gave the Asgardian a jerk of his head, and the man continued.

“The men here are all dead, but we must continue. There are many more in the castle, and if we want to get out of here alive—”

“Very well.”

Loki wished he did not have to move Anthony, but he did not have a choice. The soldier was right– if they stayed here, none of them would survive.

The Asgardians took what weapons they could from the fallen guards, and as they did so Loki noted that they had lost a few more again. But the numbers would have been far higher, had they been forced to continue their captor’s sick game.

But while the others gathered steel, Loki gathered Anthony into his arms, doing his best to support his head and not make it even harder for him to breathe. Ideally, they needed a stretcher, but it was already going against every piece of logic Loki had to even bring Anthony with them. Walking wounded were another matter– supported with an arm around a healthy man’s shoulder, they were hardly a burden. But Anthony?

Loki could already hear a man with what looked to be a shattered femur beginning a friend to leave him behind.

But Loki would _not_ be leaving Anthony.

Thankfully, not one person questioned him as he stepped up beside them by the door. He didn’t need his hands to break it open with his seiðr, and then—

They charged.

It would seem that the noise from below hadn’t reached the halls, but that was the only piece of luck they were granted, for when they came upon the group of soldiers on the floor above them, they looked a little surprised– but they weren’t unprepared. 

In turn, Loki’s men held up their swords and chains and readied for an attack—

But Loki did not stop. He kept walking, his seiðr lashing out around him in thick bands that wreaked disaster on anything in their path, and by the time he reached their would-be assailants they were little more than a bloody smear upon the ground.

The same could be said of the next group of soldiers they came across, and the group after that– and while Loki could feel the weariness seeping into his bones, he simply refused to let it get the better of him. He _refused_ to stop, because every second wasted was another second in which Anthony might stop breathing forever.

And it was going well, Loki was still standing tall as they reached the entrance hall of the castle, running on desperation and rage—

But waiting before the door was what appeared to be an _entire_ legion of soldiers, and Loki knew there was no way he would be able to get through them alone. Not like this.

But that did not mean that he would not try.

They paused opposite their enemies, Loki in the centre and the others flanking him on either side. This time, _they_ were outnumbered, and they were broken, damaged, tired, _exhausted._ Loki himself was beginning to sway, though he forced himself not to notice, and those who were injured more than he could scarcely keep themselves on their feet.

But they were _Asgardian_. They weren’t about to give up.

And Loki would be cut to ribbons before he let Anthony go without a proper fight.

Loki’s hands tightened slightly on Anthony, and he gathered his magic as best he could. The tension in the air was thick enough that he could _feel_ it, and every heartbeat was punctuated by a gasp from Anthony’s broken chest.

They were running out of time, and running into a fight that they likely could not win. But they didn’t have a _choice—_

Then a single, loud crash against the door caused all gazes to turn.

The door was shuddering, splintering, cracking under the weight of a fierce assault as shouts from the other side grew louder and _louder—_

Then the bar across the doors broke open, and the room erupted with the flash of lightning and the crash of mighty thunder.

_Thor._

Loki felt the relief course through him as the men around him cheered, and then roared with renewed energy as those who could charged the enemy.

But Loki had another goal, and rather than joining the fight he moved forward only to find his brother.

“Thor!” Loki exclaimed, cried, _screamed._ “Thor, where—”

“Loki!” Thor fought his way through the writhing bodies with an effectiveness that must have terrified his opponents half to death. Loki’s brother might be soft at heart, but on the battlefield Mjölnir gave no quarter.

“Thor, Anthony needs a healer!” Loki said, his words so quick and harsh it was a wonder they could be understood. “Thor, _now—”_

“Get outside,” Thor said, his gaze darting to Anthony in deep concern even as he crushed a man’s skull with his hammer. “Heimdall can reach you from beyond the walls.”

“There are a few more injured down below,” Halvar added– and Loki had not even heard the man come up beside him. “We could not bring them all with us.”

“I will get them,” Thor said with a firm nod. “Loki, you get Anthony back to Asgard.”

Loki nodded, and did not wait for another word. He held Anthony as tightly as he dared, uncaring for the burn in his arms, and he rushed for the broken door. He heard footsteps following him– he did not know if they were friend or foe, and frankly he did not _care._ He threw out every ounce of magic he had left, forcing anyone else away from him, deflecting the arrows that rained down on him from the walls as his feet slammed against the cobbles in the courtyard, taking him past the fallen corpses of Asgardians and enemy soldiers alike. Clearly, Thor’s assault had not been without losses.

The gate, too, was broken, and it was an easy matter for Loki to dash through it—

And the moment he was on the other side, he lifted his face to the sky.

“Heimdall!”

Now that they were out of the warded castle, the Bifröst slammed down unimpeded, the kaleidoscope of colour feeling far too bright for the moment, but the thought was but a whisper beyond the growing pressure in Loki’s chest and the tightening of his throat—

They landed heavily, and Loki looked down to Anthony with worry– but that worry only intensified when he did not receive a response from Anthony at all.

Terrified, Loki leaned down so that his cheek was near Anthony’s lips– and for a moment, that terror flooded his very being. But then he felt it. Faint, barely a whisper, but _there–_ Anthony was still breathing. _Just._

He didn’t have much time left.

With his heart pounding harder than it ever had before, the drumming echoing in his ears, Loki raced to the palace as quickly as he possibly could.

“Healer!” he shouted the moment he was through the doors, the desperation cracking his voice. “I need a healer, _now!”_

They were on him in moments, no doubt warned by Thor that there may be casualties heading home. And while the stretcher was exactly what Loki wanted, he couldn’t help but clutch Anthony’s unmoving body closer to his chest.

“No,” he gasped, “No, I won’t leave him, you can’t make me leave him—”

“Prince Loki, we must take him to the infirmary—”

“I _won’t leave him—”_

Loki fought, but they tore Anthony from his arms– and then he pounded at the locked door, shouting and screaming, his heart in his throat. He wasn’t thinking rationally, he wasn’t really thinking at all– all he knew was that Anthony was hurt, that Anthony might be _dying_ , that Loki might never see him again and—

Anthony didn’t even know how Loki felt about him. He didn’t know that Loki’s every heartbeat was for him, that Loki’s every thought centred on what was best for _him,_ and his happiness. He didn’t know how Loki yearned to feel him in his arms, to hold him close in every moment, to kiss his hair and whisper words of devotion into his ear.

Anthony didn’t _know_ how much he was loved—

And that hurt almost, _almost_ as much as the thought of losing him forever.

So, yes. Loki screamed.

In the end, it was Thor who came to calm him down. He didn’t try to pull Loki from the door as others had, he didn’t try to force him to leave. Thor merely looked at Loki with a sad expression, and then slid down the wall to sit on the floor in silence.

There were a few minutes where it made no difference, but just… knowing that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone else here to hold a vigil for Anthony, was enough to begin to soothe Loki’s aches. Not entirely– nothing could have done that but Anthony’s smile and the promise that he would be all right. But it was better than nothing.

And eventually… Loki exhausted himself, and he slumped down beside his brother.

“Anthony will live,” Thor said once a few more moments of quiet had passed. “He is strong.”

Loki nodded, and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Yes.” His voice was even harsher than before, as rough as the hide of a bilgesnipe, every word a torture.

“You could not have done any more than you did. Please, Loki. Remember that.”

Loki’s fists tightened, pulling at the split skin on his knuckles. He wasn’t sure that was true. Surely, _surely_ there must have been something else he could have done, some way he could have saved Anthony from this pain.

_Something._

Thor sighed, as if he could sense the thoughts that were darkening Loki’s mind.

“If you hurt yourself over this,” Thor said, “Then you cannot be of any further help to Anthony. He’s going to need all of the support he can get, after this.”

They remained silent through the night, through the _hours_ that it took for the healers to put all of Anthony’s broken pieces back together again.

Loki felt ill, and he knew that his face must be pale. Servants came to offer food, which Thor accepted– but try as he might, he could not convince Loki to eat it. Loki could not bring himself to stomach even water, not when Anthony was inside that room. Not even when Thor tried to remind him that Anthony would want him to look after himself.

While Anthony suffered inside… well, perhaps Loki felt a little like it was only fair that he suffer, as well.

And when the door _finally_ opened and several exhausted healers traipsed outside, Loki was through it faster than Thor could even call his name.

Loki only half listened to Eir as he stepped up beside the bed. Anthony looked so very small, swathed in so many bandages that Loki could hardly see him. His hands were so thickly bound he appeared to be wearing mittens, the bindings no doubt strengthening stitches underneath. His face was still swollen, though a little more recognisable than before—

But perhaps the most worrying was the brace around his neck, and the hard board they had strapped him to rather than the soft bed that most patients were allowed.

And Loki… knew exactly what that meant, even before the healer’s words finally started to make an impact.

Anthony’s hands would heal, and his broken ribs would strengthen– but the damage done to his spine, damage that had been worsened when Loki had moved him from the ground, was irreversible.

“I’m so sorry,” Loki whispered, his hands hovering over Anthony’s body, wanting to touch but not knowing where he could do so without causing further injury. “Anthony, I am so, so _sorry.”_

Eir quietened then, and Thor reached out to place a comforting hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“Anthony is strong,” Thor said again. “He will get through this. Especially with you at his side.”

Still, the sight… made Loki want to _weep._

But.

_But._

As Loki sunk down into a seat beside Anthony’s bed, staring at the rise and fall of his chest, he knew that Thor was right.

That the healers were leaving Anthony alone now meant that they were happy with what they had done, that he was going to pull through. It might take a long while, but Anthony _would_ wake up. And yes, he would bear the scars– in body and mind, Loki knew that this ordeal would leave its mark. But bodies healed, and Loki would _ensure_ that Anthony’s injuries did not limit him in the future. If it meant that he and Anthony had to think of new ways for a man in a wheeled-chair to climb the stairs of the palace, then they would _do it._ They would get through it.

Because Anthony’s breathing was unhindered.

And so long as that were true, then Loki’s world would keep on turning.

**Author's Note:**

> Anthony does wake up, and it’s hard. His hands don’t heal entirely, his spine does not heal at all. But together, he and Loki find ways to accommodate it all, and Anthony can get back to building. Loki struggles to pull up the nerve to say how he feels, but the ordeal had been enough of a kick in the gut to show him that hesitation was not the answer– and when he reaches for Anthony’s scarred hands one day, his voice shaking just a little and a slight blush on his cheeks, Anthony just leans in and kisses him.  
>   
> And through all the hardships, through the pain and healing and the swearing, Anthony always holds to one single truth—  
>   
> That in order to save Loki, it had been worth it.


End file.
